


Defrocked

by Paranoia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a man of the cloth, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Other, PWP, REALLY a man of the cloth, Sorry Not Sorry, ineffable kinktober 2019, masturbation with a side of sacriligion, somebody did an oopsie, you're going to need confession after this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 06:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21221795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoia/pseuds/Paranoia
Summary: Aziraphale has been tasked with being a priest, hot off the heels of his failed Nazi scheme. He's had a long, distracting day and one thing had led to another and... well, he's just never going to be able to look at Crowley the same way again.





	Defrocked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OKami_hu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/gifts).

> This was written for the Ineffable Temptations' Discord server 2019 Kinktober gift exchange. If you've got feelings about smut written about man-shaped beings in priest's garb, this is for you. If you dislike religious articles used for smut but read it anyway, get your rosary ready- you're going to need a moment with Jesus afterwards. 
> 
> Prompts with the end notes so you don't spoil the surprise.

Aziraphale was having a long day. Just a week ago he’d been assigned to moonlight as a priest at St. Anne’s Church. Well, what was left of it anyway. Technically he was holding church services in the Upper Room of St. Anne’s House since the actual church had been badly damaged in the Blitz and nobody was quite sure if or when the church was going to be rebuilt, which seemed a bit of a shame if you asked him. 

It had been scarcely two weeks since Crowley had come swanning in to rescue Aziraphale from his ill-advised attempts to thwart the Nazis, bombs were still falling, and somehow some of the church goers still had time for petty squabbles. Aziraphale had no idea if it was the fact he was an angel or if it was the linen collar that inspired it, but somehow he was invariably roped into every interpersonal issue the congregation had to offer. On top of that, the room they were using always seemed a bit too warm. Aziraphale wasn’t particularly fond of wearing the black cassock, the linen collar was itchy, and he’d been entirely unable to get Crowley out of his mind since that night.

It was one thing to be friends with Crowley, it was another thing entirely to suddenly realize that your feelings hadn’t been strictly platonic for a millennia or more. And worse, while there weren’t any explicit rules against carnal pleasures or relationships,* they were already walking a dangerous line being friendly. Anything more than that would surely land one or both of them a one way ticket to oblivion. 

> *If only because the angels upstairs hadn’t even considered that an angel might want a relationship with a human.

The realization that he was absolutely _in_ love with Crowley and couldn’t do a single thing about it would have had Aziraphale sulking in his bookshop for at least a month, but instead, here he was with marching orders to St. Anne’s where he couldn’t even lick his wounds in peace. Instead, he had to talk entirely straight-faced to a woman, Beatrice, with long red hair and sharp cheekbones who always sat front-row and wanted a chat afterwards. The only saving grace was her entirely normal brown eyes and lack of sunglasses. 

It was absolutely maddening. The worst of it, though, was that Beatrice wore such form-fitting gowns. Often showing up in bold colors with scandalously low cut v-necks, and the skirts hemmed _well_ above her knees. Aziraphale might not have been particularly drawn to the female form in any of his past dalliances or fantasies, but the uncanny resemblance to Crowley made it so that Aziraphale could only imagine _Crowley_ dressed like that, and that made all of the difference. Aziraphale found himself utterly besotted with his hereditary-enemy-turned-friend and desperately trying to fend off less than pure thoughts about his demon while facing down a well-dressed doppelganger every day. 

Today had been much the same, but it _felt_ so much longer, so much more frustrating. He’d barely been able to make it through his service straight-faced, and had even unceremoniously shook off Beatrice’s company with poorly constructed lies and hid himself in a broom closet-- of all things --until he was able to make an escape. The sun was beginning to set, throwing strange shadows over the wreckage that was London as Aziraphale walked the few blocks back to his bookshop. While he might normally take a leisurely stroll, today he was walking with divine purpose. He was ready to be back in the safe haven of his shop with a bottle of brandy he already planned on abusing to settle his nerves. His whole corporation felt entirely too small to contain the buzzing electric feeling of his frustrations and he was counting on the brandy to do away with that unpleasant feeling. 

_Finally_ Aziraphale was back in his bookshop. He closed the door behind him and sagged against it with a weary sigh. Aziraphale miracled himself a full glass of brandy, and took a fortifying sip right there at the door. He wasn’t normally so impatient to drink that he’d have a glass before making it to his backroom or even his personal study***** above the bookshop, but these were hardly normal times. Normally, Aziraphale would make his way to his backroom and set up shop there, unwinding in his plush chair with a book, or go up to his study to remove his priest outfit in exchange for his usual attire. Instead, Aziraphale only made it as far as his desk, and settled into the warm embrace of familiarity as a small ottoman found itself suddenly relocated from elsewhere in the shop under his feet.******

> *Study here meaning a bedroom that contained no beds, but instead two wing-back chairs and his books so near and dear that they needed to be kept out of the reach of shop patrons. 

> ** The only other option being to place his feet on his desk or even worse, on one of the many stacks of books littering the shop floor. 

Aziraphale sank into his chair and reached to his desk for the bottle of brandy that was waiting for him to pour his next glass. The problem with this sequence of events, however, was a stack of prophecy books set just to the side of the brandy that had caught his eye. The innocuous stack of books immediately shattered the sense of calm he’d spent his walk and first glass of brandy composing. Because, of course, they were they very books Crowley had saved, unmoved from where they’d been set that fateful evening. He’d been unable to even look at those books, let alone touch them, since they’d been set on his desk as though they were at fault for Aziraphale’s sudden case of feelings. 

It wasn’t their fault, obviously, but he could hardly look at them without feeling a fearsome flush threaten to overtake him. Love and-- no thanks to Beatrice --images of lustful thoughts warred for attention he’d rather not give either. He might not be a stranger to his body, nor carnal indulgences, but it was a different thing altogether to have dalliances with receptive parties and mutual feelings, and _quite_ another to go carrying on by himself imagining what was, effectively, _forbidden fruit_. If he’d not needed to make the Effort in the early Gothic period to appropriately fill out the hose, he’d hardly be in such a predicament now. Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. Men’s fashion had spent an awful long time subtly (and less than subtly) drawing attention to one’s groin. You could hardly walk around without _something_ if you wanted to look the part, particularly so in the more close-minded times of yesteryear. Finding an indulgent use for it had been a side benefit of a cultural necessity, really. 

Losing the internal battle against baser desires, Aziraphale cast his eyes upward for just a moment, as though he might be granted strength against himself. Which was far too much to be asking, as he’d rarely been able to stop himself indulging. In wine, food, or the companionship of his current predicament. Silently, he hoped Crowley would avoid him for a few more years, since he had no clue how he’d be able to look him in the eyes anytime soon without having some very telling reactions. As it was, the hand that had stopped halfway towards the brandy was now hovering just barely above his chest. He lightly brushed fingertips over the rough fabric of his cassock, stroking from sternum to navel. His body, ever eager, ever greedy, responded immediately, roughly shuddering as a quiet, low sigh slid from his parted lips. 

Not that he’d ever admit it, but there was both thrill and horror in the fact that he was still in his service clothes. Surely it was sacrilegious, but perhaps not anymore so than his desires for Crowley, so it was hardly any worse that he was still dressed as such. With that final minor concern justified away, Aziraphale banished the glass in his hand to.. Well, not in his hand. Where it ended up was hardly the pressing matter currently. No, the pressing matter was that even the idea that he was going to pleasure himself to the fantasy of Crowley already had him half hard and nerves blazing. The movement of fabric on skin, fingertips on fabric, the gentle slide of breathing felt like a flame being stoked into life. Quite without consciously doing it, Aziraphale’s hand was still lazily running up and down his chest, feather light and all the more delicious for it as it built such _potential_. 

Aziraphale all but twitched, a string tightly wound and then plucked, when his finger caught one of his buttons. It dragged against his skin and his fingers, making his breath hitch and his shoulders shiver. Pressing harder now, he snagged every button on the way down, legs abandoning the ottoman to fall open and his body melting more into the chair as he went, his breath speeding up. Self-pleasure had never had this sort of entrancing effect before with any other fantasies he’d mused over, and it would likely be a bit terrifying in hindsight once he was clear-minded again. At current it was electrifying and, with some level of impatience to see how this new intensity would affect the main event, he began undoing the buttons as the moved back up his torso, purposefully dragging and digging his fingers in to set his nerves aflame. When he finally got to the last button by his collar, he hooked one deft finger around his white tab and pulled, popping it free of the garment. He drew it down his bare chest, delighting in the positively sinful scratch of the starched linen against his skin as it brought a low and breathy moan from him. Ever the hedonist, he relished the rough texture, as he drug the white tab up again, languorously to savor the feeling. Purely by chance, it caught just so on his attentive nipple and- “_Oh_...” Oh, but he really shouldn’t, surely. And yet, he was unable to deny himself now. He circled his nipple with the tab and drew a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Oh, lo-” Well, he could hardly finish that word. That would perhaps be pushing boundaries too far. Still, it’d be rather a shame not to share such a pleasant thing with his other nipple. He withdrew the tab from beneath his half opened front, digging it in even harder as he did so and finding it was quite an exquisite sensation. While he laved impious attentions to his lacking nipple, he trailed his other hand down to finish undoing the rest of his buttons. The dual sensations from each hand drew little mewls and sharp, sensuous breaths each time something caught just so until he was breathing hard and pushing his cassock open. 

As the fabric slid to the side to bear his chest, the cool air hit his heated skin with an unexpected shock, drawing a loud, high pitched ‘ah’ from him. With a new sense of urgency he made quick work of his trousers and pants, aided a touch by a miracle as his other hand was still drawing his tab against his chest--intentionally catching the hard bud of his nipple with each swipe. He groaned as he got himself free, achingly hard now and precome dripping from the head of his cock. Aziraphale closed his eyes, picturing copper-red hair falling feather-light against the insides of his thighs as he brushed gentle fingers there, just a whisper over the fabric of his trousers and golden eyes boring into his own. He pictured long, delicate fingers grasping around his tab and trailing it down, down, down. Varying between just barely there and harshly digging into the soft flesh of his torso, unpredictable like the demon himself, until it stopped at the golden curls at the base of him, teasing. 

“Please,” Aziraphale murmured. “Please, don’t tease me so, darling.” 

Golden eyes flashed wickedly behind his eyelids, and his breath hitched again as the coarse linen traced soft lines up the underside of him. He groaned, overwhelmed by the foreign sensation and already so much closer than he expected. Kissed-red lips flared with a positively sinful smile and his tab fell away, replaced by his, no, Crowley’s confident fingertips, stroking gently at him, just a light touch of fingertips-- exploratory, teasing. And then Aziraphale was properly taking himself in hand-- Crowley’s lips closing over him and swallowing him up leaving a burning trail of fire that was pooling in the depths of him, already threatening to consume him from the inside out. Aziraphale was making wanton moans as his hand-- ah, as Crowley worked him, short strokes at his head before sliding all the way down to taste him fully, head angled so that Aziraphale was powerless to avoid staring into golden eyes reveling in his pleasure. Crowley, staring at him just like that, stroking him tip to root... Aziraphale came with a shout, then devolved into whimpering Crowley’s name as the intense waves of pleasure washed over him.

Opening his eyes and breaking the mental image, Aziraphale sunk bonelessly into his chair, still shivering every so often as the last little aftershocks subsided. Finally, his breathing calmed, and flushed from both the act and knowing he’d come the hardest in all of his time among mortals to Crowley’s eyes, he miracled away the mess and set his clothing to rights. Aziraphale once again reached for his brandy, knowing he could drunkenly enjoy the post-orgasmic bliss or instead fall into a sober panic at his actions and their likely consequences. And, he was a hedonist after all-- he might as well enjoy it for as long as he could. 

**\----**

Life liked to kick you in the teeth, Crowley thought miserably. He’d stopped by the shop earlier in the day to find his angel out, likely doing some sort of good deed or miracle. It wasn’t uncommon for him to stop by and for Aziraphale to not be here, but he’d had nothing else on and decided to wait to see if he’d be back anytime soon. This, it turned out, had been a grave mistake. He’d tossed himself onto the couch in the back room and at some point drifted into a nap out of sheer boredom, but apparently a deep enough nap that he’d not woken when the angel had returned, nor even when he’d sat down at his desk, just behind a few bookshelves from him. 

What had woken him up, however, were sounds he was certainly not intended to hear. He’d first blearily come-to when Aziraphale had exclaimed ‘oh’ and it had sounded a bit off, but he hadn’t been quite awake yet. Just as he was opening his eyes and about to shift up to look at the angel who would have surely been surprised to find a demon lounging in his closed shop, he’d heard a breathy ‘please’ and he’d frozen. He could not stick around for what seemed to be happening. He would rather take a second sulfur-bath than be haunted by sounds that would never be his for the rest of his life. Except he was panicking, except the sounds were only getting louder and more insistent, and it was extremely hard to focus on a silent exit strategy when the being you’ve loved for nearly six millennia was moaning not four meters away.

Finally, Crowley was able to pull it together enough to will himself back into his own fucking apartment, but only just as Aziraphale was coming with a shout. His apartment was dark and cold and blessedly silent except for the cacophony of moans, and sharp breaths and that final, agonizing ‘ah!’ echoing out into the stillness around him. He was agonizingly hard already. How could he not be? He’d only dreamed of hearing such noises from his angel’s lips for millennia. Just because he’d accidentally heard them now didn’t change the fact that he had already carefully cataloged and memorized those sounds, that they’d feature in dreams and fantasies and pitiful wank sessions until someone mercifully took him out of his world, because sulfur and hell and all of the rest of it wasn’t punishment enough. God still had to wring out one last punch-line at his expense before it all went tits-up. 

With a bitten-back sob, Crowley found himself in his bedroom, just to the side of his bed, and he collapsed on top of it. He already knew he’d have a hand down his trousers for a pitiful self-loathing wank before the morning came. He would have to avoid Aziraphale for at least a decade to pack all of that baggage up and suppress it all before he could face the angel again. Hell, he might even need two centuries, or a decade long nap just to put _that_ cat back in the bag. Most of it anyway, there wasn’t a force in Heaven nor hell that could scrub the sounds Aziraphale had been making from his memory. He’d hold onto that, whether he wanted to or not, until the end of the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> As a quick note, thank you for reading! This is the first ever smut piece I've written, so I hope it treated you well. Feel free to leave critique in the comments if you so choose. 
> 
> Beta'd by Porn Maestro [Vol_Ctrl]() and the sinfully wicked [Eturni]()
> 
> Written for OKami-hu  
Prompts  
Kink Prompt 1 (Nonsexual): clergy aesthetics  
Kink Prompt 2 (Vanilla): Someone overhears someone else masturbating.
> 
> And importantly, if you'd like to join the kind of server that spawned this you can do so here: https://discord.gg/EtPDWU


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